


Together We're Invincible

by Itneveroccurredtomeatall



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 13:05:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19426582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itneveroccurredtomeatall/pseuds/Itneveroccurredtomeatall
Summary: In the aftermath of the whole Antichrist situation, Crowley and Aziraphale take a well-deserved vacation and lie low, which involved crêpes, pétanque, and fish. They're on their own side and life is lovely.But nothing good can last forever and Heaven and Hell are coming for them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am currently obsessed with Good Omens!
> 
> I'm not sure where this will go, but I'm excited to write it! I'm sorry, but updates will probably be slow!
> 
> The title is from Muse's "Invincible" (I'm going to see Muse next weekend!).

As it turned out, Crowley and Aziraphale were not the only angel and demon capable of working together. 

After the almost-apocalypse, Heaven and Hell both dedicated several research teams to working out whether the Great Plan was the Ineffable Plan. And, after a few years, several long meetings, and a few heated debates (in which a few angels were burned with Hell Fire and a few demons were melted with Holy Water (they didn’t work together quite as well as Crowley and Aziraphale did, though that’s to be expected, as they had 6,000 less years of experience in that realm)), Heaven and Hell came to the conclusion that the Great Plan was, in fact, the Ineffable Plan.

While the other angels and demons were busy coming to this conclusion, Crowley and Aziraphale had continued their usual habits: Every now and then, they got together at the Ritz for lunch, or went to St. James’s Park, or indulged in some of Aziraphale’s finest alcohol in the antique bookshop. 

It was, in both of their opinions, quite nice, though neither would admit it.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale continued their work; they figured they deserved at least a decade’s worth of vacation, possibly two, after helping avert the apocalypse. So, Crowley hadn’t tempted anyone in three years, and Aziraphale hadn’t gone looking to perform miracles for five years, though he couldn’t help himself if he happened across someone in desperate need of one; he liked the feeling of doing good without it having to be a job well-done. But he wasn’t performing miracles for Heaven’s sake, anymore, and he wasn’t filling out proper reports for Heaven either. 

With their newfound free time, they picked up new hobbies. 

Every weekend, Aziraphale went to Paris to play Pétanque with a league he had joined. He consistently ranked last (except for one time where he was second-to-last), and had yet to win a single game. Crowley came along to watch; they went out for crêpes afterward. Crowley preferred  _ curling  _ to pétanque and, even though Paris and Parisians were some of Hell’s finest creations, he’d never really liked Paris. But he still accompanied Aziraphale each week without fail. 

And, on one memorable day, Aziraphale had been able to convince Crowley to join him, and they played doubles. Crowley was, rather unfairly given that Aziraphale loved the game and Crowley was, at best, indifferent to it, very good at pétanque. They had won that day and Aziraphale had let Crowley take him to a rather sleazy club where they had drank and danced until the sun came up. 

_ “Don’t ever let me do this again,” Aziraphale groaned as they stumbled out the front doors of the club, trading the pounding music and the heat of the small, dark room for the cool, Parisian air and the first few commuters of the day. _

_ Crowley grinned. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t to your taste, Angel. I know it wasn’t the cleanest, but you seemed to be enjoying yourself well enough. You managed to teach a new generation the gavotte.” _

_ It was wildly embarrassing, at first. But the other club-goers seemed to love Aziraphale, outdated dance and all, and Crowley couldn’t blame them. What was better than someone sharing one of their greatest passions in the world in a dimly lit club? Especially when that someone was Aziraphale. _

_ Aziraphale grinned tiredly. “Yeah, I did do that, didn’t I? But I think we’re all too drunk; they won’t remember it tomorrow. Well,” he glanced at the rising sun, “later today. So, next time, we’re getting crêpes.” _

_ Crowley nodded. “Let’s go home, Angel.” _

_ And, in a blink of an eye, they were standing in the middle of Aziraphale’s Soho bookshop. _

_ Crowley sobered himself up and made his way to the small, but functional kitchen, while Aziraphale plopped into a cozy chair that had been around for at least three generations and began to doze off.  _

_ A few minutes later, Crowley came back with a mug of hot chocolate and a plate of biscuits, but Aziraphale was snoring lightly in his chair.  _

_ Crowley carefully set the mug and the plate on a nearby table and performed a minor miracle, ensuring that the hot chocolate would be warm whenever Aziraphale woke up, before sitting down in a chair opposite the Angel and reaching for the book he’d left the last time he’d been by. _

Crowley’s newest interest was aquariums and fish-keeping. He still kept his plants. But, he figured, the next step up from plants, was fish. So, with Aziraphale’s help, he had lined the walls of his flat with large, top-of-the-line fish tanks. Some tanks housed harmless species, like the goldfish tank or the guppy tank. Others housed more interesting species, like the lionfish tank, the electric eel tank, the piranha tank, and, his favorite, the cuttlefish tank; Crowley had always admired cunning intelligence. When he yelled at the fish, they darted around the tank anxiously or hid behind whatever plants they could find. It was far more satisfying than the trembling plants, though he continued to talk to his plants each week. 

Crowley had noticed Aziraphale had taken a liking to the goldfish tank, so he had gifted the angel a small, calico goldfish.

_ “It’s for you,” Crowley said as he thrust the tank into Aziraphale’s arms.  _

_ “I-oh, thank you, Crowley! I don’t know what to say, really.” He peered into the tank at the small fish swimming in circles, lazily. “It’s really quite adorable.”  _

_ “Yeah, well, my current tank’s getting a little crowded, and this one seemed to be too slow to reach the food before the others.” That was a lie, of course. Crowley had carefully selected the healthiest, best-looking fish to give to his angel.  _

_ Aziraphale beamed at Crowley before crossing the shop and placing the tank on a small table next to a shelf containing Shakespeare’s works (but not too close to be dangerous for the books). _

The week after Crowley had given Aziraphale the fish, the tank had been outfitted with a few plants and a small castle and Aziraphale had rather proudly informed him that the goldfish’s name was Hamlet. 

Unlike Crowley, Aziraphale was not great with fish. He was often distracted and, despite being more-or-less-retired, still ran out of time to do everything, at the end of the day. So, every now and then, Crowley would swap out Hamlet. 

Discreetly, of course. Aziraphale loved goldfish, but would probably give up keeping them if he knew how much they really suffered under his care; there were some things that were better left unknown, Crowley figured. 

He had four similar fish in a separate tank from the rest of the goldfish that he rotated through Aziraphale’s tank whenever he thought the current Hamlet was looking unwell; the new Hamlet would happily take the current Hamlet’s place, eager to get away from Crowley’s yelling, while the old Hamlet would happily return to Crowley’s tank to be fed on a more consistent basis until it was healthy enough, and tired enough of Crowley’s yelling, to be rotated back to Aziraphale’s tank. 

Being on their own side suited them. But, soon, their side would truly be put to the test because, while Crowley was watching Aziraphale lose spectacularly at pétanque, a group of influential angels and demons were somewhat civilly discussing their plans for punishing Crowley and Aziraphale.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they drink, neither Aziraphale nor Crowley wants to claim Cardiff (though Crowley might secretly want to), and they fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you’re all doing okay during these difficult times!! <3

It was a Tuesday night and Crowley and Aziraphale were sitting on a couch and unwinding in Aziraphale’s back room.

“Crowley, my dear boy, would you-”

But before Aziraphale could finish, Crowley had conjured up two glasses.

Aziraphale smiled, took the glasses, and poured the wine. 

“A toast,” he said as he passed one glass back to Crowley. “Happy Tuesday.” He gently clinked his glass against Crowley’s and took a sip of the wine. 

“Happy Tuesday,” Crowley replied before taking a sip from his own glass.

“You haven’t been up to too much trouble recently, I trust?” Aziraphale said casually.

“Nothing you should worry about, angel. You?”

“Me? I never cause trouble.”

Crowley snorted in disbelief. “Right. Angelic nature and all that, I suppose?” 

“Exactly.” Aziraphale beamed at him and Crowley could have sworn the angel straightened up just the tiniest bit. 

They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment. 

“So, how would you feel about a quick trip to Cardiff?” Crowley asked, trying to sound casual. 

“Cardiff?” Aziraphale repeated. “Whatever for?” 

“I could use some fresh air and… we could walk on the barrage?”

“Why ever would you choose to go to Cardiff?” Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “Is it one of yours?” 

Crowley frowned. He quite liked Cardiff. And, as a matter of fact- “No, it isn’t. I’ve always thought it was one of yours.”

Aziraphale laughed at that as Crowley stared at him with unblinking yellow eyes. “With all that trash? And the lack of train stations in more useful places? Cardiff can’t possibly be one of ours.”

“Well, they’ve got a decent bus system and the trash is, well, it’s the humans, isn’t it?” Crowley muttered. “They get drunk and they get hungry and the only things open that late are fast food restaurants and the bins out front overflow.”

“All over the sidewalk, Crowley!” Aziraphale protested. “The streets have layers of wrappers from American chain  _ restaurants _ every weekend. That’s certainly not Heavenly behavior.” Aziraphale finished off the wine in his glass and poured himself another glass. “And I wouldn’t call those restaurants,” he said primly.

Aziraphale surely wasn’t a good example of Heavenly behavior, Crowley thought rather fondly. The angel frequently got drunk and then hungry, though he didn’t litter afterwards. “I suppose not,” he said thoughtfully. Perhaps Cardiff was one of Hell’s creations. If it was, it certainly wasn’t one of Crowley’s. “So, that’s a ‘no’ on Cardiff?”

“Not a ‘no,’” Aziraphale replied. “I could do with some fresh air.” 

Crowley snapped his fingers and they found themselves standing on the barrage. Rather miraculously, all the humans in the vicinity had been distracted and not noticed the sudden arrival of the two in their midst. 

“You were right, dear boy. The air is refreshing here,” Aziraphale said as he closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the fresh breeze. “It’s so… different from London. It’s less crowded, for one…. London is home, but this is… nice.”

Crowley said nothing, but he internally rejoiced that Aziraphale was enjoying himself. Cardiff had always been somewhat special to Crowley. He’d visited the Roman fort and the following Viking settlement that had once existed here. He’d returned periodically as the city grew and evolved, eventually becoming a bustling coal port before petering out a little bit and then undergoing more development. It wasn’t the most impressive city, by any means, but it had always welcomed Crowley. And he didn’t know of any demons, much less any angels, who wanted to spend time in Cardiff, so he was always alone and left to his own business when he visited. 

They walked along the barrage in silence, watching the sun set and outline the silhouettes of the buildings across from the barrage. 

“Dinner?” Crowley said finally as the last bit of the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, leaving a darkening sky. 

Aziraphale smiled. “Anywhere specific you had in mind? You seem to be more familiar with the area…”

Crowley smiled. “I know just the place.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently in love with Cardiff. <3 (Thanks, Torchwood for inspiring me to visit!)

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave constructive criticism and other comments! :)


End file.
